UKARUMPA, PNG –

I photographed this Wille-wagtail while out walking around this morning.

The more I observe Willie-wagtails, the more they remind me of Northern Mockingbirds. They are slender, long-tailed birds that thrive near human habitation. They seem equally comfortable on the ground or high in trees, and they chase each other scolding harshly. Willie-wagtails do not have the extraordinary vocal repertoire of our mockingbirds, but I’ve heard their loud, bright song at all hours of the day and night.

They are of course quite unrelated, but it’s interesting to note such similarities in species on opposite sides of the planet.

UKARUMPA, PNG –

A Gray Shrike-Thrush.

They are active, inquisitive birds.

View from the back deck of the house where I’m staying.

UKARUMPA, PNG — I went out into the yard again this morning. The children are on winter break, so the elementary school next door is quiet. I watched gray, jay-sized passerines hopping around on the roofs, railings, and steps of the empty buildings. They were quite plain with just a hint of a pale eyebrow, and they appeared to have a loud, whistled song.

Sacred Kingfishers, Willie-wagtails, and Pacific Swallows were all present again. And again, parrots flew over in small groups, flashing red. I’m sure they must be Rainbow Lorikeets, but I’m hoping for a good look before too long. They gather in noisy groups high in trees. I can hear them, but I haven’t been able to get near a treeful yet.

I saw movement low in one of the backyard’s larger trees, and it took me a moment to find the bird through the leaves. But when I did — wow. It was extravagantly adorned with large dark spots on its pale belly, a dark breast band, a bit of red at the base of the bill, and bright yellow skin around the eyes. I remembered seeing a page of colorful honeyeaters in my field guide, and later I looked up my find. Ornate Melidectes. Ornate, yes. But melidectes? This field guides needs diacritics.

The grayish passerines were a little more confusing at first. I decided they were either Gray Shrike-Thrushes or one of the drabber sorts of whistler. The distribution notes on the shrike-thrush left me somewhat uncertain, but the whistlers are small, under 6 inches. These birds were much larger than that, and they seemed right at home around buildings and power lines. “Adapts well to human settlements,” said the field guide. So shrike-thrush it was.

UKARUMPA, PNG — I woke up slowly my first cool morning here in the mountains. I heard parrots’ shrieky calls even before light. The dawn chorus, aside from the parrots, sounded much more familiar to me that anything I had heard around Madang. While the songs themselves were unfamiliar, they were obviously the songs of small, backyard singers, not the loud, boisterous calls of otherworldly friarbirds.

After I got up and ready, I had only a few moments to be outside. I wandered around a bit and ended up by the two big tanks that collect rainwater from our roof. There I had a nice view of the grassy mountains behind the house. Pacific Swallows perched on wires near a school building, and Sacred Kingfishers and Willie-wagtails were conspicuous backyard visitors. I saw small groups of parrots fly by, but I couldn’t get a good look at them.

I noticed movement along the chain link fence. In the fence and in the grass perched several small, finch-like birds. They were dark-headed with fat, bluish-gray bills. Their breasts and bellies were ivory-colored, their backs brown, and their rumps orange-yellow. The field guide supplied a name: Hooded Munia. PNG has several species of munias (or mannikins, not to be confused with manakins), and the Hooded Munias are the only ones with dark heads and clear breasts. They, evidently, are the expected species here.

A plain, grayish passerine perched briefly on the barbed wire strung atop the fence, but it was distant and I didn’t see it well. I did not locate the singers of any of the songs I’d been hearing in bed.

MADANG PROVINCE, PNG — A white speck caught my eye. Something was flying above the trees on the far side of the canyon, and I knew immediately what it had to be: a Sulphur-crested Cockatoo. I saw it land in a tree, and I thought I could just make out its yellow crest. Then it took off again and did not stop flying for as long as I could watch it, flapping, gliding, flashing white from a great distance until finally I let it go.

It was one of those awkward and boring mornings when everything is packed, but it’s not time to go, and there’s nothing much to do. I was more than happy for the time to bird. I hoped that today, on the last day, I’d get amazing views of the lories and little green parrots, but no.

I did see a falcon, though. As it descended, I knew it was a large falcon and not just another Black Kite. It landed on a dead branch in the top of a tree, and I tried to position myself to see it. It was right in front of the rising sun, and the glare was terrible. I walked quickly to the office balcony to try that vantage point. It was even worse. The bird must have been either a young Peregrine Falcon or a Brown Falcon, but the light was so bad I just couldn’t see. What a lousy way to miss a life bird.

Later, looking over the canyon, I saw a dove flying. I followed it until it landed, and though it was distant, I could see its green back, gray head, and what appeared to be a brownish purple breast and pink speckles on its wings. Pink-spotted Fruit-Dove.

And with that, it was goodbye to the lush forest, the heat, the sea, and (I hope) the mosquitoes. Fully-trained, or something, we are bound for Ukarumpa to begin the summer’s work.